


Prelude

by kookieznkream



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Tragedy, Canon Compliant, Doctor Feels (Doctor Who), Doctor Who References, Eleventh Doctor Era, Episode: s07e05 The Angels Take Manhattan, Feels, Gen, Life After the Doctor, Light Angst, Not Beta Read, One Shot, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, POV Outsider, POV Third Person, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s07e05 The Angels Take Manhattan, Post-Series, Pre-Canon, Prompt Fic, Short, Short One Shot, Timed Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-16 00:28:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2249136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kookieznkream/pseuds/kookieznkream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rory Arthur Williams writes one final letter to his dad in 1960s New York.  Post-Angels Take Manhattan, pre-P.S.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prelude

Being stuck in 1960s New York frankly sucked, Rory decided.

But he has gotten used to it. He has a proper family now, with Amy by his side and his son - no, _adopted_ son - Anthony. River visited them every once in awhile, between her archeological digs and travels with the Doctor. This was the closest he ever had to having a quiet settled life, even though New York was nothing like quiet Leadworth.

To be honest, even now, he was mildly surprised when Amy decided to follow him and he'd be lying if he said he expected Amy to get the Doctor to find a way to get him back. He was glad, though, but he would need to tell to his dad who, for all he knew, was still watering their plants, waiting for them to return from their adventures.  And he knew his dad deserved to know, despite years of misunderstandings and frustration.

He would need to explain. About everything. About not being able to return. About Anthony.

Amy was the one who had suggested that Anthony took the letter to his dad. He didn't argue with her; he knew that Anthony would take the letter to his dad on time. In fact, this was the least of his worries. The trouble lay in the fact that he didn't know _what_ he was going to write. There are only so many words in the English language to choose from, and none of them could come even close to describing how he felt.  

After all, how could you express the years of pent-up regret and anger and frustration and the unconditional love with just words on a page?

But it is all he has now. Words on a page. Letters inked carefully onto well-worn paper, with shaking hands. Silent whispers of words unspoken, yet loud and clear.   

Rory stared at the blank sheet of paper in front him. It was his fifth attempt at writing a semblance of a letter.  His discarded attempts lay on the desk in front of him and he was beginning to regret the years he put off of writing this letter and now, with time slowly running out, day by day, this was the last chance he had to tell his dad everything he felt. Every single, maddening emotion just bubbling underneath Rory Williams, who was no longer a nurse, but a proper doctor.  

And so, in a little room in 1960s New York, Rory Arthur Williams picked up a pen and wrote one final letter to his dad.

* * *

_Dear Dad,_

_This is the difficult bit. If I’ve got this right, you’re reading this letter a week after we left in the TARDIS. The thing is, we’re not coming back. We’re alive and well and stuck in New York 50 years before I was born. We can’t come home again. I won’t ever see you again and that breaks my heart._

_I’m so sorry, Dad._

_I thought about this for years, and I realized there was one thing I could do: I could write to you. Tell you everything about how we lived, how, despite it all, we were happy. But before I do, I need you to know, you are the best dad any son could have had, and for all the times I drove you mad and you drove me mad, and all the times I snapped at you, I’m sorry._

_I miss everything about you, especially our awkward hugs. I bought a trowel. We have a small yard. I garden. But one more important bit of business: the man who delivered the letter, Anthony, be nice to him ‘cause he’s your grandson._

_We finally adopted in 1946. Anthony Brian Williams. He can tell you everything. He’ll have the family albums and I realize having a grandson who is older than you is so far beyond weird. But I’m sorry. I love you, Dad. I miss you._


End file.
